


Close Eyes to Exit

by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Infidelity, M/M, Not between Ben and Hux, Rimming, Tumblr: kyluxhardkinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 11:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome
Summary: It was supposed to be the society wedding of the year. Twelve hours before the big event, Hux is having second thoughts...[excerpt]:A flash of amused interest lights up Ben’s eyes at the venom in Hux’s tone; Hux stares, and decides that the color reminds him of the warm amber of the finest whiskey.“Ha! So you mean this isn’t the love match of the century?”“Oh, no, it definitely is,” Hux says with a grimace. “My fiancé gets his third trophy husband while my father saves face and gains a lot of extra digits in his bank account.” He lifts up his glass of seltzer in a mock toast. “Sounds like a fucking match made in heaven to me.”





	Close Eyes to Exit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyluxtrashcompactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyluxtrashcompactor/gifts).



> For the kyluxhardkinks prompt:  
>  _Kylo is the barman in a very upmarket hotel. Hux is the groom that's just been ditched at the society wedding of the year. One thing leads to another and they end up shagging on the wedding cake._
> 
> I had originally conceived of this story based on a KyluxHardkinks prompt. But my greatest apologies to the prompter. Nonnie: the story does have mentions of an upscale hotel; a bartender; a cake; a society wedding; a jilted groom; and shagging. Just probably not in the manner that you had originally intended…
> 
> @kyluxtrashcompactor, this is also dedicated to you. You're not just an amazing friend to have in fandom, you're an amazing friend, period (in fact you're so amazing that I even tried to write you some porn for your special day, haha) ;) Happy birthday, darling! <333
> 
>    
> *Title taken from the album _Close Eyes to Exit_ by Klangstof

 

* * *

 Once, when Hux was young, he was asked to describe the color of happiness.

Most of his classmates had chosen yellow or orange, although there were several adventurous thinkers who had proposed green and blue.

Hux had been flummoxed. Happiness was a mood; color was a function of visual perception, the appreciation of which was dependent on the interplay of light and surface and the environment and the eye and the brain. It was why some people saw the world in a monochromatic blandness, while others were lost in a brilliant and overwhelming synesthesia.

To this day, he’s still not sure how he’d answer that question. But as he picks off the spots of glitter that have somehow managed to lodge themselves on the smooth surface of his skin, he’s certain that his happiness resembles nothing remotely close to those shiny bits of pink and gold.

His hearing hasn’t quite returned to normal. Everything still has a muted quality—the voices flow around and over him, impenetrable to the cotton-lined and selective indifference of his hearing. Even the chair fails to make an adequate impression as he pulls it aside, its legs protesting noisily as it drags unceremoniously against the floor.

He slumps down into it, bone-weary and limp. The back is rigid more than it is comfortable, but for once, he’s happy to have something sturdy on which to lean.

It’s nearly one-thirty in the morning; he’s already had quite a lot to drink back at the club, but he’s still more sober than he’d like to be. The hotel bar is unusually busy. Hux lifts his arm to flag down the bartender, but loses out to a blonde who captures the brawny ape’s attention with a thousand-watt smile and a pair of double D’s.

“Christ. What does someone have to do to get a drink around here?”

“Sorry. The hotel’s filled to capacity because of the holiday season. Plus, there’s some big society wedding going on this weekend to boot.”

Hux blinks as he looks up. And up. In fact, he’s feeling slightly breathless as he takes in the entire length of tall, dark, and handsome that’s standing behind the bar, one hundred and ninety pounds of delicious muscle poured into a perfectly-fitted waistcoat and a crisp, tailored shirt rolled up at the sleeves.

“Yeah.” Hux’s mouth waters, and he hopes his words aren’t coming out as a gurgle. “In that case, I’ve only myself to blame.” He waves his hand with a mock flourish. “One of the grooms of the aforementioned society wedding, in the flesh.”

The man’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “Ahh, so congratulations are in order. What would you like to drink? On the house.”

Hux huffs out a laugh. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate it, but next time, you should probably think twice before making that same offer. I don’t think your boss would be happy to learn that you were giving out thousand-dollar bottles of Bollinger Vielles Vignes, free of charge.” He doubts that the other bartender would have offered anything comparable, if at all, given that the blonde he’d been eyeing conspicuously for the last several minutes is currently pursing her lips around a straw that sits stiffly in a frothy liquid the color of fluorescent green.

A wry grin settles over a pair of wet and sinfully plush lips. “You’re probably right. How about a Veuve Clicquot Yellowboam Ostrich instead?”

“I think you must not be very fond of your job,” Hux teases. The smile slides slowly from his face when he realizes he’s been flirting—hardly becoming behavior for someone who’s set to walk down the aisle in a little over fifteen hours. He picks at another piece of glitter that sticks to the bony protrusion of his wrist; he digs at it with his nails, letting out a grunt of frustration as the area surrounding the pesky decoration turns red in irritation.

“Wait—let me,” the man says. He swipes a large thumb over Hux’s sensitive flesh. It’s nothing like his fiancé’s; somehow, the gentle brush is just enough as the glitter falls off without protest, leaving only a tingling reminder of his assured touch and the racing of Hux’s pulse beneath his heated skin. “No need to have anything marring your wedding day,” he laughs as Hux’s cheeks stain pink.

Hux swallows. There’s a part of him that wants to push—well. whatever _this_ is that’s happening between them. To be able to lose himself in the excitement of attraction, to the thrill of something slightly (okay, more than slightly) untoward, just for himself…

He lets himself imagine it for several seconds more, rejoicing in the giddiness that rushes through him before he pushes it back. “On second thought, I’ll just have a seltzer with lemon.”

The request is met with a raised brow and the quirk of a smile that has Hux's insides flipping in a manner that has nothing to do with the liquor that’s pulsing through his veins. He watches as the man plucks a tumbler from one of the shelves with his left hand as his right grips the nozzle of the soda gun, the spray of tonic water and carbonation fizzing against the insides of the glass and mixing with the air. A lemon slice floats on top, the meat of it pale and translucent, clinging to one rogue seed.

Mr. Handsome walks over with Hux’s drink while cradling a long neck stout between the fingers of his other hand. The bottom of the bottle swings in a long, wide arc as he walks, yet he doesn’t spill a drop.

“Thanks, erm...” Hux squints, scanning the man’s vest for a nameplate. There’s something niggling away at him about the man’s unusual behavior, which increases as he pulls up another chair and swings it around so he’s practically facing Hux.

“Ben Solo.” Ben shifts, and Hux notes how the impeccable lines of his trousers strain from the muscular breadth of his seated thighs. He looks so… _thick_. Hux picks up his water and takes a sip; God knows what they charge here for a simple drink if they’re outfitting their bar staff in uniforms such as this.

“Well, Ben Solo, I’m Armitage Hux. I’d always heard that New York was an unfriendly place. Certainly not one where good-looking bartenders give up their tips on a busy Saturday night to sweet talk a patron who just ordered the cheapest thing in the house.”

Ben lifts his shoulders and shrugs. It’s a small movement, but one that seems to take up the entire space. “Let’s just say I’ve a thing for customer service and hotel hospitality. Besides, you looked like you could use the company,” he adds with a careless grin.

“Looking to _escape_ from company is more like it. Present one not included,” Hux adds hastily as Ben makes a move to stand. Somehow, Ben’s presence is soothing and non-judgmental, and Hux is shocked when he realizes just how desperately he wants Ben to stay.

“Last minute wedding jitters?” Ben asks as he settles back down.

“Last minute I-don't-know-what-the-fuck-I’m-doing-with-the-my-life-anymore jitters.”

Ben lets out a low whistle. “That’s a mouthful and a half.”

 _Fuck._ Hux sighs, running his hands through his hair, wincing as more glitter shakes loose from the strands. “This…” He looks at it with distaste, as more falls onto his slacks. All things considered, he couldn’t have picked a worse time to have an existential crisis. “You must see plenty of nervous brides and grooms-to-be in your line of work.”

“I do. But most of them aren’t sitting alone in a bar on the day of their wedding, soused to their eyeballs and looking like they’re about to leap off a cliff.”

“Well, I don’t consider the day officially starting until after sunrise, so…”

“Speaking of which. you should finish that off and try to get some sleep. Your body and head will thank you for it.” Ben coughs. “I mean, you’d want to put on your best face forward for the photographers and all.”

“Fuck the photographers. And fuck the paparazzi.”

A flash of amused interest lights up Ben’s eyes at the venom in Hux’s tone; Hux stares, and decides that the color reminds him of the warm amber of the finest whiskey.

“Ha! So you mean this isn’t the love match of the century?”

“Oh, no, it definitely is,” Hux says with a grimace. “My fiancé gets his third trophy husband while my father saves face and gains a lot of extra digits in his bank account.” He lifts up his glass of seltzer in a mock toast. “Sounds like a fucking match made in heaven to me.”

“I noticed you never mentioned anything about yourself in that little spiel.”

Hux looks at Ben with deadly seriousness. “My fiancé is the furthest thing I could ever wish for myself.

The admission renders Ben temporarily speechless. “Ahhh.” His fingers drum along the surface of the bar; they’re thick and long, set on the end of a powerful hand, yet there’s also something strangely graceful about the movement. Hux watches as Ben’s dark brow furrows, and his mouth settles into a frown. “So then… why?”

Hux shrugs, but unlike Ben’s movements, he feels awkward, his thin frame gangly instead of fluid, sharp instead of soft. “Guilt is a powerful motivator.”

“It’s also a shit one.” Ben hesitates, then leans forward slightly. Hux is suddenly assaulted with the whiff of something spicy and intoxicatingly masculine, and he feels the tell-tale heat creep up the column of his neck. “You mentioned something about your father saving face. I take it that this motivator of yours is somehow related?”

Hux closes his eyes, his pale gold lashes brushing the line above the delicate curve of his cheeks. It’s been several years, but it doesn’t make the situation hurt any less. Each inhalation draws in Ben’s delicious scent, and it fills up every inch of Hux’s lungs until he feels as if he’s ready to burst.

“I… my father is— _was_ —a medical geneticist. He and his research partner were working on a method to improve the ability of conventional cytogenetic techniques to detect chromosomal rearrangements beyond just large, abnormal sequences. You know the Edison quote _‘Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration?’_  That’s my father, one-hundred percent.

“After two and a half years, they finally made their breakthrough. And his partner convinced my dad that it would be a good idea to shop their findings around to different pharmaceutical companies, to gain their financial backing for any future research. My father is not the most socially skilled or eloquent person, so his partner volunteered to be the spokesperson for their venture. Can you guess what happened next?”

Ben takes a deep breath. “Intellectual property theft.”

Hux nods miserably. “His partner went on to make a killing. My father was left with a ton of bitterness and betrayal, and little of anything else.”

“Anger and sadness, I can understand. But why should you feel guilt over your dad’s misplaced trust?”

“Because his partner was my former college professor. And I was the one who introduced them both.”

“Oh.” Thankfully, the shock on Ben’s face quickly smooths over into a neutral expression. Hux is glad to see it devoid of sympathy; pity, he already has for himself. In spades.

“It gets better.” Hux grimaces, but the dam has cracked. What starts out as a trickle develops into a deluge as all the frustration he’s held within him bursts forth. “Guess who helped obtain and ultimately purchased the rights for the utility patents?” He waits a beat, then continues when Ben remains patiently silent. “Snoke Enterprises.”

“Shit.” Ben sits back, studying Hux with bemusement. “But Snoke’s influential, not to mention as rich as Croesus. Surely, as your fiancé, he was able to set things right.”

“Oh, yes, he certainly did. But there were several things that transpired first.” Hux looks down, fiddling with the corner of his napkin which had become ragged and wet. “I had taken it upon myself to reach out to Snoke when I’d first learned of the betrayal, to explain what had happened. I was surprised when he’d agreed to an in-person meeting with my father and myself. But when we got there, he was more interested in studying me than the evidence I had spent months preparing.” Something sticks uncomfortably in Hux’s throat. “It’s no secret that my fiancé enjoys the company of a certain type of man.”

Ben’s eyes darken as his eyes travel down the length of Hux’s still youthful, slim form, the appreciation evident on his face. “I must admit, I’m not a fan of Mr. Snoke’s, from what little I know about him. But I must say that he has—at least in certain things—exquisite taste.”

Hux colors under Ben’s perusal; even though he knows he’s being complimented purely on the basis of his physical attributes, he can’t help the resulting flush of pride and subsequent arousal. “Once Snoke made his intentions known, everything was taken care of in short order. My former professor was quickly discredited, his standing in the academic community irreparably damaged. My father received a windfall, and besides the professional accolades which followed, the announcement of my engagement to Snoke lessened the sting of having a son who was not only gullible, but gay.”

Ben chokes as his jaw sets into something fierce. “So now you have to feel guilty for who you are?!”

“I grew up in the Deep South. In certain pockets, there are plenty of fucktards who wear their homophobia next to their Trump pins like a badge of honor.”

“Unfortunately, the Deep South doesn't have a monopoly on bigotry.” An unreadable look crosses Ben’s face. “You know why I'm here? My parents have always said that observation is the best way to understand human nature. And truth be told, there’s few places better to do so than in a bar. But even then, and despite alcohol’s uncanny ability to uncover many truths, there are always those who never fail to surprise me with their choices or actions.”

The corner of the napkin finally twists off, coming apart in Hux’s hand. “I’m failing to see what that has to do with my current situation.”

For the first time that night, there is a brief hesitation to Ben’s actions. He takes his hand and brings it forward; when Hux doesn’t seem disinclined to pull away, he places it over Hux’s own in a gesture of comfort. “The way I see it, there were at least three people involved in what happened between your father and his partner. Your role was the least of it; I’m not sure how you could have known the type of person your professor was. Your father worked with him constantly, and he was the one who preferred to remain behind the scenes during the business discussions. Yet even he was surprised by the duplicity.” The corners of Ben’s lush mouth turned up in a sneer. “As for the issue of your sexual preference, I won’t even dignify such prejudices with further discussion.” Ben peers at Hux through a curtain of thick lashes. “Do you even _like_ your almost-husband?”

Hux tugs at the cuffs of his Loro Piana shirt. Snoke loves to parade him around, dressed in the finest clothing that’s tailored immaculately to set off his lithe form, but even the finest and softest cottons and wools can’t cover the razor-sharp ways in which his fiancé exerts his control. It’s the same way in which that plummy voice so often reminds Hux of just how indebted he and his family are to Snoke, and how quickly that could all be taken away. It’s the manner in which Snoke celebrates their impending nuptials in the swankiest club with a bottle service consisting of only the most premium liquors, yet who dusts Hux’s freckled skin and golden-red hair with shiny, sparkling confetti that reflects everyone around him except Hux himself. It’s the thought that goes into reserving Hux one of the finest rooms in The Grand Oradin, with floor to ceiling windows and a perfect view of the skyline and the Park, while Snoke hovers in a room occupying the same line but on the top floor, eight feet above.

Hux’s green eyes swim. “It’s too late,” he whispers. The Cristal is chilling, the sugar decorations are being added to the ten-thousand dollar wedding cake, and the ballroom has been turned into a veritable botanical garden for the pleasure of some three-hundred plus guests.

“It wouldn’t be easy. But what’s several weeks of discomfort coupled with some well-placed _mea culpas_ compared to the rest of your life?”

Hux glances away, momentarily horrified by the salty, fat drop of moisture which slides down his cheek. It collects somewhere above the fulcrum of his lip; he hears a faint _‘I’m sorry’_ somewhere in the background as the tip of his tongue darts out to capture the errant tear, which is the exact same time that Ben’s thumb traces the curve of Hux’s upper lip.

One of them gasps; Ben’s eyes are dark and wide, and his breath audibly hitches as Hux does it again, this time with purpose, his tongue rasping against the whorls of Ben’s skin.

“What do you want, Hux?” Ben asks hoarsely.

Hux’s eyes dart down, and _holy shit,_ Ben is _hard_ , the mouthwatering length of him tenting the front of his trousers obscenely. For once in his life, Hux wants to be something other than the dutiful son, something more than a possession to be proudly exhibited, a third husband, the third in a line of misters until a newer, improved model comes along. He wants to give in to his own desires, unfettered and guilt-free, and to lose himself in an activity that has nothing more as its endgame than satisfying his own needs and pleasure.

His watch blinks 2:07 as he stares at the gorgeous man in front of him. _Fuck it_ ; it’s now or never. His right hand darts under the table, his fingers traveling along the sensitive line of Ben’s inner thigh until they come to a rest against the fat shape of his prick.

“This. I want _this._ ” Hux tilts his head forward, his next words caressing the shell of Ben’s ear. “Come upstairs with me.”

Ben’s lips broaden into a smile, baring his teeth. In a different situation it could almost be considered predatory, but its wolfishness is offset by the unexpected gentleness in his gaze. He shouts to the other bartender, who looks like he’s run out of luck with regards to a particular blonde. “Hey, Lenny. That’s it for me, tonight; I’m heading off.”

The pair make their way out of the anonymity of the bar and into the warm glow of the lobby. Ben occasionally rests his hand on the slope of Hux’s shoulder or on the small of his waist. Even though his grip is large and sturdy, it never feels proprietorial, merely comforting and strong. It’s also apparent that Ben is well-known to most of the staff, as the slew of _‘See ya', Ben’_ s and _‘Goodnight, Mr. Solo’_ s readily show.

As the elevator makes its smooth ascent to the thirty-seventh floor, Hux nearly lets out a burst of laughter. For the first time, he’s glad that Snoke is surprisingly traditional, refusing to share a bedroom with his intended on the night before their wedding because of some superstitious fear of bad luck. Hux barely has the time to swipe his keycard, the light flashing green as the bolt unlocks, before he grabs onto the front of Ben’s vest and pulls him inside.

Neither seem particularly interested in the expansive view of the treetops and twinkling lights which greets them from the opposite wall. Ben impatiently strips off his waistcoat and pulls out his money clip from the pocket of his trousers. The thick wad of cash falls onto the desk with a _clunk,_ and all other sounds are drowned out by the thudding of Hux’s heart as Ben walks him backwards until his shoulders hit the chinoiserie wallpaper behind them and his lips are consumed by Ben’s eager mouth.

Their kiss eventually gentles as Ben’s lips brush teasingly over the reddened and swollen flesh. His large hands splay over Hux’s chest, causing the nipples underneath to pebble under the thin, silk-like fabric as Hux lets out a moan. The sound seems to spur Ben on as he rolls the hardening nub between his thumb and his forefinger, the exquisite mixture of pain and pleasure causing it to pucker further.

“So responsive,” he says hoarsely, the hint of roasted malt lingering on his breath. It’s dark with the trace of sweetness as he licks along the inside of Hux’s mouth, and it’s ridiculously intoxicating.

Hux whines as Ben suddenly removes his hand; Hux’s body follows shamelessly, begging for his touch.

“What do you want?” Ben asks, his expression turning knowing and wicked. “Tell me, Hux.”

“I did,” Hux gasps. “I want _this._ What we’re doing right now.”

“We’re not doing anything except _talking_ right now,” Ben points out, his eyes gleaming brightly. “Do you want me to kiss you? How about if I got on my knees and sucked you off?” His voice lowers, the deep vibrations doing incredible things to increase the blood flow to Hux’s engorged prick. “Do you want to come all over my face, or should I paint yours with my spunk then lick it all off? Do you want to take me from behind, or would you have me on my back while you straddle me, fucking yourself on my cock?”

Hux’s brain is racing a million miles a minute as he tries to process the series of filthy and tantalizing images flooding his brain. He wants them all, he’d be happy with any, yet he’s been wired since childhood to attend to the wishes of others—so much so that he’s unable to give voice to his own thoughts.

Ben begins to rub up against him with the length of his still-clothed, but undeniably exquisite, cock. “Come on, Hux. Tell me. Use your words.”

“Pants off,” Hux croaks out experimentally. He bucks his hips, embarrassed by his obvious need.

The first things gone are a pair of what appears to be some very expensive shoes. Ben’s skilled fingers make quick work of his belt as Hux yanks at it impatiently, eventually tugging it off. A strangled sound escapes Hux as he glimpses the thick outline the monster that strains the fabric of Ben’s briefs. His hand darts out, unable to stop from cupping the base of that fabulous prick, and— _Gods, yes_ —Ben is also blessed by a pair of balls that feel as heavy and full as they look, the heft of them just absolutely _perfect._

Ben stares at Hux, desire shining in his half-lidded eyes as Hux’s fingers grip the waistband and pull. Ben’s cock springs out, long and thick, its ruddy head swollen with the hint of a drop of precome at the slit, and Hux has to steady his legs as Ben stands before him, breathless and flushed.

“Care to return the favor?” Ben teases. His tone is light, but the hoarseness in his voice belies his attempt at a casual demeanor.

Something bold and daring rushes through Hux, accompanied by a surge of power. He kicks off his brogues then unfastens the button of his pants, slowly lowering the zipper as the placket falls open, framing the shape of his aching cock. His hands push down at his trousers, the supple material sliding over his slim hips and the swell of his ass as his boxers quickly follow. Both garments fall down the line of his legs until they come to a puddle at his feet; he slips out a foot out from one of the pant legs before toeing off the other.

His pulse races as he screws up his courage and takes one step closer. He’s half-naked but feels completely exposed as Ben stares at his prick, its pink and rigid length straining so much that it curves towards his stomach. He watches as Ben’s eyes go dark, and it takes every ounce of his self-restraint to not take his cock in his hand and jerk himself off as Ben slides to his knees, his beautiful body lowering in supplication.

 _“Look at you,”_ Ben growls, the sound of it guttural and animalistic. He shuffles forward, the tip of his tongue licking along the outline of his mouth in a suggestive manner. Ben’s lips are thick and wide, and unbelievably wet. They would look sinful wrapped around the girth of Hux’s cock, but tonight, Hux yearns for something filthy, something vulnerable, something more intimate.

He shucks off his shirt, careful to remain inches away from Ben’s waiting mouth, then turns slowly until he’s facing in the opposite direction.

“Fuck me with your tongue,” Hux whispers, ignoring the growing heat that spreads slowly over his face as he leans forward and thrusts out his ass.

There’s an uncomfortable moment of silence, which is quickly replaced by the slapping of Ben’s hands landing on each one of Hux’s asscheeks, a puff of breath, and then the sensation of something long and wet running a stripe from the sensitive spot behind Hux’s balls all the way up to the top of Hux’s crack.

 _“Nngggh,”_ Hux mewls, his incoherence amplified as Ben licks along the same path one more time before focusing on Hux’s asshole with his tongue.

 _“Oh, God,”_ Hux cries as Ben laps around the sensitive edges, nipping and sucking on the slowly loosening rim. The wet and sloppy sounds along with Ben’s muffled breaths slowly break apart all of Hux’s inhibitions. His hips jerk as he’s torn between pulling away from and pressing further into Ben’s face as Ben’s tongue curls and stiffens, his body arching and writhing as Ben thrusts fractionally beyond the ring of muscle. Hux rocks his hips almost violently as he presses his fist against his mouth, trying to stop the keening whines which spill unbidden from his throat.

Ben stops his attentions for an excruciating second. “Let me hear you,” Ben says unsteadily, before returning to the task of eating Hux out.

 _“Please, fuck, please,”_ Hux wails. What he really means is: _Fuck me._ He uses his last bit of resolve to inch himself forward and away from Ben’s magnificent mouth; he’s too close, and as incredible a rimmer as Ben is, it’s his cock and not his tongue that Hux wants in him when he comes. He makes his way towards his valise on legs that barely keep him upright, digging around for the bottle of ridiculously expensive lube that Snoke had purchased for their wedding night.

He flips open the top, pours an excessive amount onto his shaking fingers and begins to work them hastily into his ass, the liquid squelching and overflowing between his digits. Thicker, stronger ones join him, catching the excess that has been smeared along his thighs, and quickly replace Hux’s more delicate hand as Ben sinks two fingers into Hux’s warm sheath.

“Jesus, Hux,” Ben whispers, his voice tinged with something akin to reverence. He spreads both buttocks using just his left hand, exposing Hux’s well-groomed hole. It’s shiny and swollen and dripping in lube, and Hux widens his legs as Ben’s long fingers flex and curl as he continues to open Hux up.

Ben finally withdraws, spinning Hux around and pressing him up against the cool glass.

“Never be afraid to show the world who you are, Hux,” Ben breathes. He nips at the crook of Hux’s neck as he presses his lubed-up dick against Hux’s crack. “Don’t be afraid to tell them what you want.”

The massive window which once felt like the most luxurious cage for Snoke’s latest acquisition is now the only thing that separates Ben and Hux from the city’s millions of denizens. Hux’s hands splay against the panel, their heat and sweat leaving cloudy streaks on the formerly pristine surface as the concrete Manhattan skyline blurs from Hux’s glazed vision and the humidity of his breath. The window is smooth and unyielding beneath his clenching and scrabbling fists, and Hux grows frantic with his want, his heart hammering with the need to be free.

Hux feels a grim satisfaction as Ben prises his buttocks further apart using his thumbs while his cockhead presses deeper into his cleft. “You want me to fuck you?” Ben hisses, the words causing Hux’s arousal to twist further in his gut. Ben shifts, bracing his right arm overhead and pinning Hux’s wrist. “Fuck you so hard that we shake the glass?”

“Yes. Oh God, _yes,”_ Hux begs. He wants to feel the ache in his ass and the bruises on his hips as he walks down the aisle. He wants to smell Ben’s breath and the scent of their sex as he says _‘I do.’_ He wants to remember the stretch and burn of Ben’s cock pounding into him as he looks his husband in the eye and shares their marital bed. “Give it to me, Ben. _Please.”_

Ben positions the blunt head of his cock against Hux’s opening and slowly pushes in; both men gasp as the resistance gives way, Ben’s considerable length sliding deeper as Hux’s ass clenches, then sucks him in.

“Oh, fuck,” Ben groans, exhaling loudly when he finally bottoms out. He presses fluttering kisses along the side of Hux’s jaw and the nape of his neck. “Feels so fucking good.”

“It’ll feel a lot better once you start to move,” Hux teases. His next breath leaves him in a whoosh as Ben grabs the sides of his hips and begins to thrust, each determined movement causing Hux to gasp and his cock to bounce. He’s overwhelmed by the sensations—the pressure of Ben’s strong and calloused hands as they skate along the sides of his flanks, the sighs and grunts that underlie both their quickening breaths, the shadows of their rutting forms reflected against the backdrop of the city. His palms are slippery from all the lube and sweat but he’s held securely, pinned by Ben’s meaty arms and his glorious cock.

Ben’s strokes deepen as they kiss each other frantically. The angle is imperfect so it’s not a kiss as much as it is the occasional brush of tongue or a nip on the corner of the mouth, an exhalative burst that accompanies each shaky breath. Hux grips his cock and whimpers, the added pressure almost unbearable as he fucks into the friction of his fist, matching his movements to Ben’s thrusts.

Ben comes first, his large body moving to a staccatoed beat as he grinds shakily against Hux’s ass, shouting his release. Hux lets out a cry as his own cock pulses, the thick, white ropes of come streaking across the glassy surface, marring it with his seed.

Their movements slow, the frantic nature of their copulation morphing into something more languid and tender. Ben gives one final pump before slipping out; Hux turns, his legs nearly buckling as his body sinks, but Ben anticipates this and manages to hold them both up until they tumble onto the safety of the bed.

Hux blinks several times at the soft smile that greets him as he tries to focus. There’s a tightness in chest, an overwhelming sadness which Hux ignores by burying his head against the solidity of Ben’s breast and breathing in his scent. The moon casts a pale glow that highlights the markings on Ben’s skin, a constellation of freckles so similar to, yet so remarkably different, from Hux’s own.

Ben lifts his head and threads his fingers through Hux’s damp locks, his eyes inscrutable.

Hux shifts. “That was incredible,” he murmurs as Ben hums his agreement. “This wasn’t… this wasn’t some sort of a pity fuck, was it?”

Ben actually snorts, although he makes a valiant attempt to cover it up. “I’m hardly the kind of person who kisses someone’s ass just because I’m feeling sorry for them. I mean, have you looked in the mirror? Because you’re fucking gorgeous. Not to mention brilliant. _And_ a brilliant fuck.” Ben flops back down and stretches out; Hux hooks a foot around his calf, keeping him close. “And perhaps I feel like a bit of a kindred spirit, having grown up in the shadows of my parents myself.”

Reminders of his father and Snoke bubble unpleasantly to the surface, “Oh, God,” Hux groans. “I’m supposed to get married today. What am I going to do?”

“You’re analyzing too much,” Ben says sleepily. “When you close your eyes, in you heart, what do you want the most? Once you know the answer, you’ll figure out what you need to do.”

Hux closes his eyes. He tries to picture his future, but the lateness of the hour and the lingering buzz of too much alcohol makes everything dim and sluggish.

“Stay with me tonight.” Hux has no idea what the morning will bring, but at the very least, he knows that he wants this simple request.

He waits for Ben’s answer with bated breath, only to be greeted by the sounds of his soft snores.

 

**.~O~.**

The sun in winter is particularly bright especially as it ascends above the awakening city, throwing everything into sharp relief. The height of the room causes the rays to slant across the bed—over sheets which partly cover the curve of the waist and the jut of a hip; a hand slipped under the chin in quiet repose; a face with a strong and slightly crooked nose; and a wide mouth that hangs open as it relaxes in a peaceful sleep.

Hux props himself up on his elbow and stares at the tableau with unabashed fascination. A feeling washes over him; it’s lighthearted and breathtaking and, despite its novelty, surprisingly comforting.

He closes his eyes. He isn’t such a hopeless romantic to think that happiness is a guarantee that comes in the form of a gorgeous bartender with fairy tale abs, a perfect cock and a rakish grin. But he also knows that if he could explore the possibility with a gorgeous man who also happens to be gifted with a husky voice and a keen wit and a personality that makes his blood sing—well, then he considers himself not only potentially happy, but extremely lucky, indeed.

His eyes remain closed for just a little longer. His father will be furious; Snoke will be furious _and_ vindictive, but he’s resigned to deal with them both.

 

_When you close your eyes, in you heart, what do you want the most?_

 

Hux holds on to the feeling of being sated. Content. He holds onto it fiercely as his lashes finally flutter open, and he plans his strategic exit.

He pads over to the nightstand and pulls out a cream-colored pad and pen that’s stamped with the hotel’s logo as he scribbles a quick note to Ben. It takes several attempts; even though both sentiments are true, _‘Thank you for the fuck’_ is entirely inadequate, while _‘Thank you for the life-changing night’_ puts him close to stalker territory. He finally settles on jotting down his phone number, accompanied by the following sentiment:

> _When we met, you told me that I looked as if I were about to leap off a cliff. I have no idea what forces caused the stars to align last night, but thank you for opening my eyes._
> 
> _I’m using my words now. I know that my future is uncertain, but my heart also tells me that it would be better with you in it. Here’s my number, should you feel the same ~H_

He folds the note in half and walks over to where Ben has thrown his money clip, picking up Ben’s pants and shirt along the way. He smooths the fabric of the trousers, shaking out the creases before hanging it over the back of a chair, his face heating when he remembers the events which led up to their clothing being strewn around the room in the first place. Hux raises the shirt to his face and inhales, his nostrils flaring from the remnants of Ben’s cologne.

He’s temporarily transported—enough so that he doesn’t realize that Ben is quietly approaching until a pair of strong arms circle him from behind.

“I… ” Hux is sure that his entire body is flushed from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair. “I was just about to leave you a note.”

“Would you prefer to give it to me in person instead?” Ben asks with an arched brow. Hux has no idea how anyone can look so damn sexy after only three hours of sleep.

Hux hands him the slip of paper silently. He watches closely as Ben’s eyes roam over the hopeful lines.

“So you’re finally ready to start living your life?” Ben asks as his mouth spreads out into a slow smile.

“Yes.” Hux takes deep breath. “Couple of people I have to see first, though. Apologies in advance to you and the rest of the hotel staff for the broken furniture and inevitable noise disruption.”

Ben grins. “Hmmm. I guess it’s lucky that I’m on your side, then.” At Hux’s look of confusion, he flips the note over, pointing first to _The Grand Oradin_ logo and then, in finer print on the bottom, _A member of The Organa-Solo Luxury Hotel Collection._

“Your former fiancé isn’t the only one with some power and influence,” Ben chuckles as he gathers Hux into his arms. He cups Hux’s chin and draws him in, sealing his confession with a kiss.

Hux closes his eyes as he kisses back with everything he has and his spirit takes a running leap. The sun filters through the thin skin of his lids; it’s bright and gold, and accompanied by a multitude of colors that reach out to him like the colors of a rainbow. It’s so beautiful, it makes him weep.

And he thinks it looks a lot like happiness.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Come say "hi" on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nerdherderette)


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